


(Sympathy is) More Than Just a Way of Leaving

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina is really not a fan of Emma's dress sense. I mean, why else would she keep staring at Emma, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Sympathy is) More Than Just a Way of Leaving

The wonderful thing about having created a cursed town where time doesn't, well, move is that it creates ample opportunity to get things right. Regina has always prided herself on being something of an aesthete, whether in picking out clothes or decorating her homes over the years. Given a whole town for her imagination to run riot, she's lavished attention on everywhere important to her and used mayoral powers to stop anyone else going too far in the direction of bad taste. With the exception of Gold's dingy pawn shop, it's all been quite a success.

 

Her home is a palace, of sorts, with the requisite sweeping staircase and sparking chandeliers. Anything bigger or bolder might draw the wrong sort of attention, although the more Regina reads about Europe the more she wishes the curse had transported them all there--it's much easier to explain a castle in a continent positively lousy with them.

 

Everything in Storybrooke _blends_ neatly, and that's no accident. Regina designed it this way, and every splash of color or bland neutral serves its purpose. But then Emma Swan comes to town with her unusual car and her dress sense that puts Regina's hackles up in an instant. As a fleeting visitor, she would soon be forgotten, but the damned woman stays longer and longer, insinuating herself in the palette that Regina's protected for so long.

 

The breaking point? That awful red leather jacket. Oh, Regina has no doubt that it's _de rigeur_ if you're picking up men in a dive bar somewhere, or hustling at pool. But in her charming town it makes Emma stand out everywhere she goes. There's enough trouble around Emma to draw Regina's attention, but when she struts around in vibrant leather and skintight jeans, it feels like being mocked every time Regina's eyes are drawn back to her.

 

But Regina hasn't wielded power in two worlds without learning a trick or two. Admittedly, it's a little difficult here when no magic spells trip off her fingers, but she's always been resourceful.

 

*

 

The first attempt is direct and easy to arrange. At the next town event--in this case a fundraiser for the library--Regina contrives to be standing next to Emma with a glass of full-bodied red in her hand. Merlot leaves simply tragic stains, and Regina is almost sad to spill this particularly tasty one under the guise of bumping into the Sheriff.

 

She's expecting rage from Emma as the dark red liquid splashes across the leather, threatening streaky purple stains over a large part of it. It takes considerable willpower for Regina not to smirk as she sees the results of her handiwork.

 

"Perhaps that will teach you to watch where you're going, Sheriff Swan."

 

"You walked into me," Emma points out, still unfazed by Regina's power and influence. It's almost like Emma's waiting for an excuse to start the next fight. "And don't worry about it. I just had this dry-cleaned, and the guys there put some amazing protector spray on the leather. The wine will wipe right off. Not that you offered to have it cleaned."

 

"I wasn't sure it would stand up to chemical cleaning," Regina snaps, angry in an instant at being thwarted. "Cheap things fall apart so easily."

 

"Whatever," Emma sighs, turning away in search of the restrooms to dry off her precious jacket. Regina gestures to the server to bring her a fresh glass and stews over a new plan as she sips at the Merlot.

 

*

 

The key to getting what you want, honestly, is being ready to react at the slightest opportunity. So when Regina calls into the police station with the simple intent of annoying Emma and giving her more work to do, she isn't really thinking about Emma's clothes.

 

But as Emma goes stomping off in search of the background check--that Regina absolutely needs, right this minute--she leaves the offending garment unguarded, right there on the back of her desk chair.

 

Regina knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Grabbing the jacket, she bolts for the front door, calling out to Emma as she leaves.

 

"Too slow, Sheriff. I'll come back another time."

 

She throws the jacket into the dumpster in the parking lot, with a laugh that can only be described as a cackle. It's only as she's driving away that Regina realizes she's just committed herself to spending even more time with Emma Swan, and that is completely the last thing she wants.

 

*

 

Three days later, Regina crosses Emma's path once more. Regina's distracted by yet another breakfast argument with Henry, and so she doesn't see Emma coming towards her (or what she's wearing) until the last possible second.

 

"Madam Mayor," Emma greets her, with more suspicion than usual behind the formality of the words.

 

"Sheriff," Regina nods, pursing her lips at the return of her least favorite fashion catastrophe.

 

"The other day, at the station…" Emma looks like she's ready to bust out the handcuffs and launch an interrogation, but something makes her hold back. "You know what? Never mind. I'm starting to sound like Henry."

 

"Oh, were you about to accuse me of wreaking curses on the town again, dear? Because it's not very imaginative to get your material from a ten-year old," Regina is as snappish as usual, but she feels a pang in her chest at the lie today. With Henry the rationalizations trip off her tongue as easily as breathing, but Emma Swan is a different proposition altogether. It actually makes Regina eager to avoid the subject, and nobody else has ever had that effect.

 

"Right," Emma nods. "Like I said, never mind."

 

"I'm sure you can find less annoying ways to waste taxpayers' money than bothering me?" Regina asks, but it isn't really a question.

 

"Yeah," Emma shrugs, and she doesn't hesitate before crossing the street to her police cruiser.

 

Regina fumes for a moment in the middle of the street, knowing that no one in town will be foolish enough to interrupt her moment of quiet anger.

 

One thing is for sure, though: she will get rid of that damn jacket, even if she has to ruin another kingdom just to do it.

 

*

 

The monthly town hall meeting is Regina's concession to making Storybrooke appear democratic. In reality, it's just a quick way to get some of her spying done for her. Petty squabbles and neighborly disputes often point to something more serious beneath, and it's through this vigilance that Regina has been able to seal up the small cracks in her perfectly imperfect world before they can cause real trouble.

 

In a time B.S. (Before Swan), Regina could have all the whining and bureaucracy done in an hour, flat. These past few months the citizens of Storybrooke have been far too talkative, and full of questions that Regina does not like one bit. She knows the source, naturally, even if Emma sits beside her on the podium and lets Mary Margaret direct the public grilling in her place.

 

Four hours has to be some kind of record, Regina thinks despairingly. The coffee has long since passed from lukewarm to cold and the brand new Louboutins that she just couldn't resist are starting to pinch around the toes. She finally interrupts the annoying little man who runs the hardware store (she doesn’t have the energy for names, real or imagined, tonight).

 

“Thank you for your time tonight, ladies and gentlemen. But my son is waiting very patiently and I should get back to him.”

 

The crowd is grumbling, no doubt with more pointless complaints about stop signs and the flowers in the public gardens, but Regina is on her feet and heading for the door. Only Emma reacts quickly enough to follow, hot on her heels in a way that’s becoming a very annoying habit.

 

“We’re done for the night, Sheriff,” Regina calls back over her shoulder. She ignores Emma all the way to the car, throwing her purse onto the passenger seat and turning the key with impatience. Naturally, it refuses to start. She’s grown quite attached to this little Mercedes over time--though never quite as much as her favorite horses--but it’s been testing her patience since the turn of the year.

 

“Dammit,” she sighs, punching the steering wheel in frustration.

 

To improve the night even further, Emma Swan is knocking on the passenger side window, and Regina doesn't need to see the Sheriff's face to know that she's smirking.

 

Ignoring Emma, Regina grabs her purse and gets out of the car.

 

"Need a ride?" Emma asks, waving the keys to the cruiser in one hand.

 

"I'll walk, thank you. It's not far."

 

"Suit yourself," Emma shrugs. "But--"

 

Her words are lost to the thunderclap, and as though summoned by a spell, rain begins pouring from the dusky evening sky. Great, Regina thinks, kicking out at her tire from sheer annoyance.

 

"Come on, Madam Mayor," Emma says, walking around to Regina's side. The town hall is emptying now as people make a dash for home, and Regina doesn't see that she has any choice. Nodding as though she's the one doing the favor, she trudges across the gravel and slips into the cruiser.

 

Graham never drove her around like this, Regina thinks, and there's a momentary pang of missing him as she looks at the discarded coffee cups and memos that litter the floor of the car. She'll find a tidy Sheriff some day, maybe.

 

Emma slides in, the jacket darker in patches from the rain, but thos will dry soon enough. The engine starts with ease, and it feels a little like mockery as they pull out onto the main road, the wipers already working overtime to keep the windshield clear.

 

"I was wondering--" Emma begins, her eyes still firmly on the road in front.

 

"Fine," Regina sighs, conceding defeat before the fight can even start. "Fifteen minutes, no more. Make sure he goes to bed on time, and no reading under the covers."

 

"Thanks," Emma says softly. "It's funny--a few months ago I'd be scared you'd try to steer me off the road in a rainstorm like this. Instead you're letting me have time with Henry."

 

"Your point, Sheriff?" Regina doesn't like this soft, nuanced ground. She expects better of Emma.

 

"I know it hasn't been easy for you. And I just want you to know that I am grateful. Spending any time with Henry is…"

 

"Yes," Regina agrees. "I just want him to be happy."

 

They remain in silence for the rest of the short journey, and Regina doesn't make any fuss about Emma following her in through the front door. These intrusions have become almost normal, almost not like intrusions at all anymore.

 

It's only when Emma shrugs off her damp jacket and Regina reaches for it that she even remembers her little vendetta.

 

"I'll just--" Emma says.

 

"He'll be upstairs," Regina answers, turning away from the smile that Emma can't seem to help. This was so much easier back when they were landing jabs in the cemetery.

 

But in the meantime, she hears the crackle of the fire in her study, calling out to her before she even realizes her feet are in motion. Her housekeeper truly is a marvel, and the room is as spotless as ever. Regina drapes her own blazer over the back of the armchair, before settling on the stool by the fire, red leather still gripped between her fingers.

 

There'd be no excuse for just hurling the thing into the flames, and Regina still doesn't know why it bothers her so much. It's only as she drapes it on the ornate metal of the fire guard to dry that she feels the memory flash back to her.

 

Oh, she's gotten lazy here in Storybrooke. There's been so much to learn and remember that some details of her old life have become hazy in the whirl. She tries not to dwell on why she took everyone else's happy endings, because it means thinking about the one that she lost.

 

But the feel of the leather under her fingertips jolts her back to a long-abandoned bedroom, filled with the heat and light of a roaring fire twice the size of this one. Regina tries to force her mind onto anything else, but she can feel herself being sucked in even as she closes her eyes in resistance.

 

The leather there is the cover of a heavy book that rests on the bed beside her. The parchment of its pages remains blank, just waiting for the ink of her pen to bleed into it. But she has no pen in her hand, and there shall be no words to write.

 

It's the most pointless of traditions, expected for every Royal birth--the Queen keeping what the peasants would call simply a 'Baby Book' with every detail and keepsake of the new child's life, ready to be archived in the Royal Library when that child is grown.

 

Weeping, she throws the book on to the floor where the bloodied sheets are awaiting a less squeamish servant to collect them. Let the book be burned along with them, she thinks, and reliving all this has brought fresh tears to her eyes when Emma Swan walks into the study, interrupting all over again.

 

"Wow, it's warm in here," Emma says, sticking with safe ground.

 

"I can't stand the cold, dear," Regina answers, turning away to wipe the one tear that managed to fall.

 

"Can I uh, have my jacket?" Emma asks. "It's late, and you probably want me gone."

 

Regina holds out her hand, the jacket still gripped tightly. She does not look at Emma, and so the Sheriff hesitates before stepping in to claim her clothing.

 

"Are you okay?" She asks, and Regina shrugs off the worst of her sadness, the professional mask slipping into place.

 

"Absolutely fine," Regina replies, trying and failing to put some steel back into her voice.

 

"I wasn't trying to overstep, with Henry," Emma explains, pulling the jacket on over her thin sweater. The seasons are becoming more distinct this year (more like the real world, Regina supposes) and that intermittent worry about who exactly Emma is rears up in the back of her mind.

 

"You didn't. I trust you can see yourself out?" Regina reaches for her purse, aiming to pull out some official papers to look busy with.

 

Emma stuns Regina into freezing where she stands though, from the simple and awkward act of reaching out to pat Regina on the forearm. To Emma's credit, she looks kind of shocked too, almost like the hand acted without her permission.

 

"If you wanted to… you know what, I'm just gonna go," Emma blurts, but her hand is still resting on the exposed skin (damn, why did Regina insist on a three-quarter sleeve this morning?)

 

"I--" Regina should have a wealth of snippy dismissals to choose from, but she's feeling out of sorts. Is this how Graham felt when he started to remember? This sick feeling, like vertigo out of nowhere, and trying to fight through two lives' worth of thoughts at once? Regina has never been oblivious, but something about the closeness of Emma Swan--something about her touch--is throwing Regina off-kilter.

 

"Madam Mayor?" Emma presses, stepping in even closer, concern written across her face. Oh, damn these people and their _caring_ Regina thinks, unable to bear the idea of Emma Swan pitying her. At a loss for what to do next, she forces herself to stop thinking for a moment.

 

And that, naturally, is the moment her brain decides that the only logical thing to do is to kiss Emma squarely on the mouth. There's a muffled "mmf!" of surprise (Regina can't be sure it didn't come from her) but the warm fingers on her forearm grip even tighter, and Emma's other hand reaches for the back of Regina's neck, brushing through the ends of her short hair and then pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

 

This is no affectionate peck, not once their lips part and tongues seek entrance to duel. It's hot, it's wet, and damn, it's as intoxicating as Regina's most potent cider. It's a declaration of war, too, only on a brand new front. Regina has no intention of losing, not now, and so let Emma think this is some kind of ceasefire if she's stupid enough to mistake it for one.

 

There's no time to think about strategy though, not with the heat of the fire at her back and the leather of Emma's jacket so close and so easy to grab. Regina prides herself (ten years behind a desk or not) on giving as good as she gets, always, and let's just see Little Miss 'I Learned to Fight in Prison' try and best her now. She tugs hard on the tough material, pulling Emma closer to her, and if her nails gouge just a little, well, so be it.

 

"Holy shit," Emma gasps when they part for air. The sparkle in her eyes says she wants this, in fact she seems to want a whole lot more, but the defences rise up like castle walls in an instant. Regina steps back, assessing her victory with detachment (except for the way her lips feel a little bruised, and her chest is heaving from the effort to breathe normally).

 

Emma letting go of her arm is like a spell breaking, and Regina conjures up her wickedest smirk to compensate for the loss.

 

"Well, well, well," she says, but before she can tear into Emma, the Sheriff is backing out of the room. She runs out into the night, the cruiser's engine gunning mere moments later.

 

Regina sinks down onto the comfortable stool, watching the flames leap and flicker as she presses her fingers (shaking, dammit) to her lips.

 

Oh, this was not at all what she wanted. But that's never stopped her from making something work to her advantage before.

 

*

 

It's so easy to avoid someone when you choose, especially when everyone dislikes or distrusts you in the first place. Regina keeps largely to her home and her office, while Emma becomes a ghost Sheriff, haunting the small incidents of trouble that flare up. The town was always designed to run itself smoothly, after all, and there's rarely any need for their paths to cross.

 

Regina tells herself that the kiss doesn't matter, but the reaction does, and keeping that in her pocket for another time is always smart with an enemy as potentially troublesome as Emma Swan.

 

It’s Henry--of course--who disrupts the tentative peace. Regina wonders if he would still act out, if he knew about the shift in relations between the two women who care most about him. But regardless, he takes exception to Regina taking his fairytale book from him (again) after his report cards confirm a slight slip in his grades.

 

“I’m only ten,” he argues. “These aren’t even important grades.”

 

“Hard work means nothing without consistency,” Regina tells him, and he scowls at her in a way that shows his resemblance to Emma. There’s something else about that expression that’s been nagging at Regina for years, but she still can’t place it. Perhaps she’s been irritated by Emma Swan even before she met her.

 

It’s then that she decides to forbid Henry from seeing Emma, in a moment of sheer spite against both of them. Shared DNA won’t mean much in the face of Henry being grounded, and if Regina has to alter her schedule to enforce it, she absolutely will.

 

Henry, being ten and completely impossible, waits until her first moment of distraction to run away. She says goodnight to him at nine with no response, and wakes up before dawn with a growing sense of unease. Sure enough, the sun is yet to rise and Henry (plus his backpack) are nowhere to be found.

 

Regina tries tries to think of anything that will avoid enlisting Emma, but given a choice between Henry’s safe return and some unscheduled awkwardness, there really is no contest. Regina doesn’t dwell on the fact that Henry will see this as an attempt to make him miserable instead of the gesture of protection that it actually is.

 

She hammers on the door of Mary Margaret’s strange, converted home, and taps her foot impatiently while awaiting an answer. It’s almost eight in the morning, and Henry’s been missing since sometime after Regina went to bed at one. This really can’t wait.

 

Fortunately the simpering schoolteacher isn’t there (Regina almost misses her feistier days in the Forest, until she remembers what that led to). Unfortunately, that means Emma is, and she’s the one who opens the door with her toothbrush hanging from one corner of her mouth. It’s uncouth, it’s untidy and it’s somehow the most attractive thing Regina’s seen in a long time. Regardless, she shakes it off.

 

“Is he here?” She demands, one foot already over the threshold to show that she will not be denied, not today.

 

“Henry?” Emma mumbles around the toothbrush. “Nuh uh.”

 

She steps back, granting Regina access, and crosses the room to finish her morning routine. When Emma comes striding back from the bathroom she’s already grappling with keys, phone and jacket, ready to join the search.

 

“Mary Margaret is checking at school. I’ll try his usual hiding places. You should go home, in case he turns up there.”

 

“So you can play hero,” Regina accuses, “while I sit home and do nothing?”

 

“You’ve been through this before, Madam Mayor. You know the drill. Besides, Henry’s a smart kid. He might just have been hiding nearby and waiting for you to leave,” Emma points out, leading Regina outside into the street. She clips that damn Sheriff’s badge onto her belt, and Regina looks away.

 

“I want to come with you,” Regina says, grateful that this morning Emma has opted for the dark brown leather more befitting her position.

 

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Emma says, and for the first time she looks uncomfortable, finally acknowledging the strange events of their last meeting.

 

“If you think I’m going to use my son’s disappearance for some kind of ‘booty call’, Miss Swan...” Regina enjoys the reaction her choice of words provokes. Emma cycles through shocked, offended and angry in a delicious few seconds of fighting to keep her temper in check.

 

“Go home, Madam Mayor,” Emma insists, slipping into the Sheriff’s car and making the radio burst into life. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” Regina spits, more than a little furious at being dismissed.

 

“Just for today? You will,” Emma says, putting the car in drive and peeling away from the curb. Regina stamps her foot, just once, in frustration and gets back into her once-again functional Mercedes.

 

She actually has every intention of waiting, Regina admits when she gets back home. In fact, she flicks mindlessly through work papers for at least an hour before prowling into the kitchen and sipping distractedly at some apple juice. If it weren’t so early she’d resort to something a lot stronger.

 

She checks every room in the house again, before opening the kitchen door and exploring the garden thoroughly. Henry doesn’t like to play out here, not since Regina caught him trying to climb the apple tree.

 

Checking she has her phone with her, she trudges back inside and upstairs to Henry’s room on suddenly tired legs, the panic already making her feel kind of exhausted, as though last night’s few hours of sleep never happened.

 

Discarded socks lie in a trail towards the hamper, comic books peek out from under the bed, and if she didn’t know better Regina could mistake this for Henry’s room while he’s at school on any other day. She can feel the loss in the air, though. It’s magnetic somehow, drawing her to the unmade bed and carelessly dropped pajamas. She reaches for them, folding and smoothing them before systematically straightening out the sheets.

 

She checks her phone. Nothing.

 

Regina opens Henry’s closet, mindlessly tidying his things away in some pathetic attempt at distraction. It’s when she picks up his favorite blue shirt (that doesn’t seem to be his favorite anymore) that the three white feathers fall out.

 

Boys and nature make for messy companions--something Regina has already learned to grit her teeth about--but something about these feathers is familiar to her. She closes her eyes with the feathers in her hand, and tries to remember why they might be significant. The curse means wildlife in the town is limited, and the only time she’s ever seen white birds they’ve been nesting out in the taller trees of the forest.

 

Her eyes snap open as she remembers the cabin, and without thinking about it, Regina is already in motion. She runs downstairs, her heels no obstacle to moving this fast, and slips back behind the wheel of her car in record time.

 

There’s no sign of the police cruiser as Regina speeds through town, and she’s grateful for that. Oh, perhaps she should pick up the phone and tell Emma what she suspects, but if there’s a quick and easy way to find Henry, Regina is damn well going to be the hero of this story. Not to mention that he needs a scolding that will prevent him ever being this stupid again.

 

She’s so intent on the road, and her destination, that she doesn’t notice the sky darkening so quickly. By the time she parks on the edge of the forest, the rain is already spitting from dark gray clouds and it looks like there’s a lot worse to come. Turning the collar of her coat up against it, Regina sighs and stalks off into the trees. She knows these woods like the back of her hand, intent on knowing every inch of her kingdom in this world--the better to avoid nasty surprises.

 

By the time Regina reaches the cabin (heels, on this terrain, have been damn near suicidal) she can see that nobody is there. Nonetheless, she reaches for the key hidden on the doorframe and lets herself in. The rain is coming down in sheets now, an unseasonal downpour that makes her reluctant to trek back to her car. She should have listened to Emma--stayed home in the warmth and the dry, where Henry could be returning at any moment. He certainly isn’t hiding in this cabin.

 

Regina checks the few dark corners anyway, pacing back and forth over creaking floorboards despite the fact that her feet are already starting to ache. She checks her phone, realizing with a jolt that she doesn’t have even one bar of service, and wonders how long that’s been the case. It’s enough to stir her into action, but just as she starts towards the cabin door, it flies open to reveal a breathless Emma Swan, rain dripping from her oversized Sheriff's rain jacket, and an angry expression to go with it.

 

"Didn't I tell you to stay home?" Emma demands, putting her hands on her hips. "Listen lady, I know you're used to the whole town kissing your ass, but when I tell you to do something there's a good reason."

 

"What's happened? Where's Henry?" Regina demands in return, standing her ground and straightening her spine.

 

"He's with Archie. Having an emergency therapy session to stop him running away every time you're mean to him."

 

"What gives you the right?" Regina splutters. "He's my son, Miss Swan, and I decide--"

 

"He went to Archie's office anyway, to hide," Emma explains. "As soon as he found Henry, Archie tried to call you. When he couldn't get you, he called me."

 

"So, what? Henry has two mommies now? That's a little progressive for Storybrooke. Not to mention that it is never--ever--going to be the case." Regina is livid in an instant. This disloyalty of her subjects, siding with Emma and giving her reason after reason to stay, it's becoming more unsettling than annoying.

 

"Hey, I can't help that I gave birth to him. And if you want to keep him away from me, the last thing you should do is forbid it. Have you ever actually met a kid before? This is what they do," Emma says, condescending like she's mother of the goddamn year.

 

"Why are you here?" Regina asks. "I was just about to head back anyway."

 

"I was looking for you. Ruby told me she saw your car speeding out in this direction, and then Mary Margaret told me about the cabin. I figured it was worth a shot," Emma explains, looking like she wishes she hadn't bothered.

 

"Well, I'm going to get Henry. You're not needed anymore," Regina huffs, attempting to push past Emma and start the unfortunate walk back through the pouring rain. Emma sticks her arm out to bar the way, gripping hard on the doorframe to make her point.

 

"Archie says it's going to take a couple of hours. They'll have some lunch, take their time talking it out," Emma says. "So there's no rush. We could at least try and stay out of the worst of the rain. You're certainly not dressed for it."

 

"I'm not afraid of a little rain--did you think I would melt?" Regina snaps. "And what does Dr. Hopper need that time for, hmm? Time to tell Henry how wonderful you are, and how terrible a mother I am, no doubt. I'm on to you, dear."

 

"For the last time," Emma sighs. "I'm not trying to take Henry from you. But I will look out for him. He's obviously still troubled."

 

"Well, faulty genes must be at blame for that," Regina says, unable to resist a quick jab. She's congratulating herself on a pithy insult and so is slow to see the slap coming. There's no mistaking the sting in her cheek though.

 

"Shit!" Emma says, withdrawing her hand like Regina's skin burnt her. "I said I wasn't going to let you get a reaction out of me. Dammit."

 

"Is that the best you've got?" Regina spits, her face throbbing with pain. She grins in a way she knows looks positively wicked, before retaliating with a sharp slap of her own.

 

"Ow!" Emma gasps. "Jesus. Are you secretly a boxer as well as some Evil Queen?"

 

"Ask Henry," Regina says, not letting how flustered she is by the remark show. "He's the expert on making up stories."

 

"We have to stop this. The hitting. And the other thing," Emma says, blushing furiously so that both cheeks are pink while she averts her eyes.

 

"I'll stop when you stop," Regina says, aware of how childish it sounds. "Maybe you beating me up will finally convince Henry I'm not the bad guy."

 

"I won't sink to your level," Emma spits back, angered again in an instant.

 

"You're boring me," Regina says, licking her lips to make sure the hit didn't draw blood. "Get out of my way, Sheriff."

 

"God!" Emma yells, exasperated. "Can't you just wait for the rain to ease off, like a normal person? You'll break your neck in those shoes, anyway."

 

"That's my problem," Regina points out, and she decides to just push forward and take her freedom. She isn't expecting the resistance in Emma's outstretched arm though, or the way the other woman manhandles her back into the cabin until Regina is pressed against the wooden column that supports the roof.

 

"Unhand me," Regina says, and she feels so much like her old self in that moment that even obstinate Emma Swan hears the command in her voice, and it looks like she's wavering for a moment.

 

"Make me," Emma says instead, and the grin that crosses her face is pure 'bad girl'. Regina's disgusted at herself for the shiver that it sends down her spine.

 

Regina considers kicking, punching, perhaps just launching herself forward, but it's hard to get leverage when Emma is pressing her against the upright this way. And then the glimmer of a bad idea takes root in her brain, and they're right back where they left it in the study a few weeks ago.

 

"You asked for it," Regina breathes, the words hardly louder than a whisper. This time, when she runs the tip of her tongue over her lips, Emma's eyes are watching every second of it, transfixed.

 

"Oh, fuck--" Emma is saying, but Regina kisses the last syllable off her lips, enjoying the gasp it provokes (which turns almost instantly into the softest little moan.

 

"Mmm," Regina murmurs between kisses. They're softer today, quick and shallow but enough to leave her a little dizzy.

 

"Is this--" another meeting of their lips, "what you wanted?"

 

Emma kisses harder this time, trying to silence Regina's tricky questions. "To get me out here all alone?"

 

"Sssh," Emma hisses against her mouth, before letting Regina delve past Emma's lips with her tongue, stroking with purpose.

 

"Anyone," Regina says, panting gently when they part this time. "Would think that you want me at your mercy."

 

"Are you?" Emma asks, pulling back just slightly. It's enough that Regina can see how those bright blue eyes have darkened, arousal radiating off the other woman like the crackling of old spells. She's disturbed to admit she can feel the same thing pulsing through her own body, almost amazed at how much she wants this.

 

"I think that’s up to you,” Regina says with a smirk, and Emma proceeds to kiss that right off her mouth, only now instead of pinning Regina against the support beam, Emma’s using her hands to grab Regina and pull her closer. The way Emma squeezes Regina’s ass is downright possessive, and it’s even more of a turn on than the passionate making out that’s making Regina’s head spin.

 

This is her chance, of course. To push Emma away, use the shock and momentum to go running back to her car and pretend yet again that this mistake isn’t happening. Regina knows how easy it would be, can actually feel her muscles tense in preparation, and yet she sighs into the kisses and stays exactly where she is.

(Except for her hands, of course. Like Emma’s, they begin to wander, until one is tangled in blonde curls and the other is tugging at Emma’s hip until their bodies are as close together as they can possibly be.)

 

When they break once more for air (and really, when was the last time Regina kissed anyone so feverishly? She doesn’t even really enjoy it that much, except apparently, when the person she’s kissing is Emma Swan) Emma steps back to unzip her heavy rain jacket. Regina looks down at her own clothes, smirking at the dark patch evident on her slate gray blouse.

 

“Oh,” Emma says, dropping the jacket on the dusty floor. “I got you all wet.”

 

“You have _no_ idea,” Regina pounces on the chance for a double entendre, reaching for Emma with impatience at being separated even this long. Emma responds by pulling Regina’s blazer roughly down her arms, letting it fall by their feet.

 

This time, Emma explores further with her mouth. Regina tilts her head back as though ordered, and Emma teases with light little kisses along her jaw. She nips carefully at Regina’s earlobe, before settling on the sensitive skin just beneath her ear and treating Regina to a succession of firm kisses, darting flicks of her tongue and sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. Regina supposes she should protest, but the tremor that reaches all the way down to her knees prevents her from asking Emma to stop.

 

Regina enjoys being treated like a queen, of course, and so she’s quite happy to keep her fingers tangled up in Emma’s hair, guiding her gently over the most sensitive points on her neck and relaxing into the thrilling touches that come one after another. When Emma bites down softly on the pulse point at the base of her throat, Regina can’t help but moan. She’s so far gone already that there can’t be any way back.

 

So she offers no protest when Emma’s nimble fingers undo the buttons of her blouse. Regina doesn’t even make a quip about prison, or ten other insulting remarks she could conjure up about how Emma Swan got to be so good at having sex with women, because right now it’s just too important that Emma get all the way to having sex with her.

 

“This is insane,” Emma mutters as she takes in the newly exposed skin and Regina’s black bra. But it doesn’t stop Emma from kissing her way along Regina’s collarbone. “I hate that you’re this hot.”

 

“I can’t help it, dear,” Regina sasses, delighting in the compliment. She might just have underestimated her Sheriff, if the way Emma guides her purposefully towards the huge, overstuffed sofa is any indication.

 

Regina makes to kick off her shoes before sitting down, but Emma places a warning hand on her knee.

 

“Keep them on,” Emma instructs, and she doesn’t even seem to consider saying please. Regina rolls her eyes, and then does precisely as she’s told. She’s rewarded by Emma getting rid of her damp blouse altogether, before sitting down on the sofa and indicating that Regina should straddle her lap.

 

“Have you done this before?” Emma asks, as her hands cup Regina’s breasts over the black lace.

 

“Do you really want to know?” Regina asks, arching into the caress.

 

“I guess not,” Emma says, before putting her mouth to work on the planes of Regina’s chest. Emma kisses and licks with the same devotion here, not missing one sensitive inch with her oral attentions. Meanwhile her hands are slipping up the outside of Regina’s thighs, nudging her skirt up as they go.

 

She should feel powerful, like this. Kneeling over Emma it would be easy to mistake Regina for the one in control, but she’s content to lose another part of her mind as Emma slowly sucks one nipple through the scratchy lace while her fingers skim tantalizingly along the edge of Regina’s panties.

 

“Something you wanted, Madam Mayor?” Emma asks with a wicked grin of her own, as she releases the now very erect nipple. Regina gives a frustrated huff in response and unhooks her own bra.

 

The tactic is a success, because Emma can’t seem to resist lavishing more attention on each of the uncovered breasts, her mouth warm and purposeful at every turn. Regina finds herself squirming in Emma’s lap, already more turned on than she can bear.

 

“Stand up,” Emma says next, with a deliberate smack on Regina’s ass. With a quick grumble, Regina complies. She’s delighted that the reason she moved is to let Emma pull off her own tank top (those _really_ have to go, along with the damned jacket that started this whole mess). And Emma isn’t wearing a bra--possibly because Regina yanked her out of the house before she had a chance to get dressed properly--which is enough to have Regina’s mouth watering.

 

“Lose the skirt,” Emma commands, stretching and putting her hands behind her head. “Slowly.”

 

Regina is not prepared to do some kind of striptease for this woman, and yet she drops her bra (still hanging around one wrist) and starts reaching for the discreet little zipper on the side of her skirt. Her hair falls in front of her eyes, letting her observe Emma for a moment with her own eyes hidden from view. Regina wonders how much she’s giving away, then chuckles softly at the thought that she’s hiding anything as she stands her half-naked, breathless and on the verge of begging for more. She’ll keep her secrets, perhaps, but there’s no hiding how much she wants this--how much she wants Emma.

 

“Very nice,” Emma encourages as Regina inches her way out of the skirt, slipping it down her legs and kicking it aside with one shiny black shoe. Self-conscious suddenly, she wraps one arm over her bare chest.

 

“Nuh uh,” Emma scolds, pulling Regina closer by the waistband of her panties. “Now you’re going to have to wait a little longer for what I had planned. You can finish undressing me, first.”

 

Regina wants to laugh at the idea of being denied anything by Emma, but instead sinks dutifully to her knees and pulls off each of the Emma’s leather riding boots. Regina bites down on her bottom lip before reaching for the buttons on Emma’s jeans, but Emma stretches into her touch and it barely takes a moment to have the denim sliding down those long, pale legs that Regina desperately wants to have wrapped around her. (and yes, she makes sure to take the underwear, too).

 

On her knees like this it’s impossible to ignore Emma’s arousal--Regina can smell it, can see the glistening of moisture already soaking the darker blonde curls between Emma’s thighs.

 

“May I?” she asks, hands already pressing Emma’s thighs apart. It’s not what either of them were expecting, least of all Regina, but Emma nods and lets her legs fall open further.

 

Regina takes a deep breath and runs one tentative finger over the slickness that awaits her. Emma curses quietly at even that slight contact, and Regina smirks at the reaction. Instead of wondering about whether she knows what she’s doing, or even if she should be, Regina leans in and swipes her tongue in an identical path.

 

Oh.

 

She’s expecting it to feel like a duty--a chore to be performed in order to get what she wants in return--but from that first taste Regina finds herself intoxicated. It makes her greedy, running her tongue firmly over every crease and fold, feeling Emma get wetter as she goes. Regina experiments with slipping her tongue inside, and Emma is definitely a fan of that move, if the way her hips jolt upwards is any indication. Regina continues exploring with her mouth, licking and sucking as she wants, guided by Emma’s breathy little moans and the pressure of her hand gripping Regina’s hair.

 

Finding Emma’s clit is hardly rocket science, and Regina lavishes attention on it, using the technique she prefers on herself. Although she desperately wants to make Emma come, Regina is restrained and sets a steady rhythm, slow but firm, almost like a massage. It drives Emma crazy, judging by the way the cursing picks up in volume and variety.

 

She’s all the way to _Jesus Fucking Christ_ (who, Regina thinks, deserves absolutely none of the credit right now) when Emma comes, suddenly and loudly, against Regina’s mouth. When Emma’s grip on her hair doesn’t relent, Regina takes it as a sign to keep going, lightening up on the pressure and flicking gently with just the tip of her tongue until Emma loses her words altogether in a second climax.

 

Regina rocks back on her designer heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She dreads to think what state her already minimal makeup is in now, but it’s worth it for the sight that’s in front of her.

 

Emma Swan, it turns out, is a glorious sight when just fucked. Her eyes are still closed, and one hand is cupping her own breast. The heaving of her chest and the splayed legs make Regina feel just a little smug at what she’s accomplished. She barely has time to drink in her victory when Emma’s eyes snap open, and she’s reaching for Regina--looking dazed but determined.

 

“Come here,” she whispers, kissing Regina soundly and tasting herself on Regina’s lips and tongue. Emma is stroking Regina’s face with her thumbs as they kiss, and it’s so tender that it’s almost terrifying.

 

“Wow,” Emma breathes as Regina breaks the kiss to stand and get rid of her panties. It takes just a moment to be straddling Emma’s lap again, only this time she buries her face against Emma’s neck instead of more kissing; Regina can’t trust herself right now, and so she keeps her face hidden.

 

She makes her own journey of lips over Emma’s throat, nipping cheekily as she feels like it, enjoying the hisses it draws out of Emma’s mouth.

 

Emma recovers quickly enough, taking the hint and letting her fingers travel down across Regina’s stomach until her fingertips are skimming over soaked, dark curls. Regina waxes religiously (because she enjoys the pain, just a little) and Emma seems fascinated at first by the very thin strip of hair that contrasts with her own.

 

“I don’t like to be teased,” Regina murmurs against Emma’s shoulder, and she’s lucky that Emma is too satisfied to challenge her on that. Instead Emma’s touch becomes more deliberate, stroking through wetness until she’s running her fingertips around the sensitive entrance. Regina thrusts against the touch, willing Emma’s fingers deeper. Emma pushes back with two, and then three, fingers that plunge strongly into Regina over and over again.

 

It won’t take long, Regina can already tell. She rears back on Emma’s lap, toying with her own nipples as Emma’s thumb on her free hand is applied in hard, slow circles over Regina’s clit. The counterpoint of thrust versus that pressure is maddening in the best way, and Regina finds herself almost slamming her body into every touch. She doesn’t care right now if this is comfortable for Emma, she just needs so very badly to come.

 

And come she does, in short order. The shriek would be embarrassing if she weren’t enjoying the waves of orgasm quite so much, and Emma lets Regina rest for a few long moments before twisting her fingers in some strange, corkscrewing motion that has Regina practically sobbing a few minutes later when her second climax hits.

 

Emma grasps Regina’s hips with trembling, slightly sticky fingers and lets Regina collapse on top of her. They kiss lazily for a few long minutes, before Regina forces herself to stand on shaky legs.

 

“The rain’s stopped,” she says, nodding towards the window.

 

“So it has,” Emma says, turning to look.

 

“I should get back,” Regina continues, looking anywhere but at Emma. “For Henry.”

 

“Right,” Emma sighs, stretching her limbs once more before standing to join the awkward fumbling around for clothing.

 

Regina dresses in record time, feeling sweaty and sticky beneath the expensive fabrics. Emma looks much the same as before when she’s dressed, but for the flush in her cheeks and the gleam in her eye.

 

“Goodbye, Miss Swan,” Regina attempts as she makes a break for the door. Emma is too quick for her, grabbing successfully for Regina’s wrist and stopping her in her tracks.

 

“Miss Swan? Seriously? After what just happened here?” Emma can’t keep the shock out of her voice.

 

“Fine. Em-ma,” Regina makes the name sound sing-song and silly.

 

“Listen, I know you probably want to run a mile right now, but that was amazing, right? I mean, it was amazing for me,” Emma says.

 

“Yes,” Regina says, grudgingly. “It was good.”

 

“So you go and get Henry, if you want. And you take whatever time you need to get your head on straight,” Emma suggests, stepping in closer to Regina. “But I think that was too good to only happen once.”

 

“Emma Swan, patron saint of running away, is what? Looking for a commitment?”

 

“Ah, you are still in there,” Emma says with a smirk. “I’m not saying I’ll bring a U-Haul on the second date or anything.”

 

Regina doesn’t understand the reference, but she nods anyway.

 

“But,” Emma continues. “I am saying that tonight, about 9.30, I’m coming over. I may or may not bring a nice bottle of wine. And we are going to work out what the hell happens next. Okay?”

 

“It’s rude to invite yourself--” Regina begins, but Emma shuts her down.

 

“Okay?” She demands.

 

“Fine,” Regina agrees with another eye roll, ignoring the feeling that’s a lot like butterflies in her stomach. She is not going to get ridiculous about this. It’s probably just hormonal, or something.

 

“Then off you go,” Emma says, leaning in for one last kiss. Regina can’t resist turning the chaste peck into something with a little more oomph, even if she does hate herself for it.

 

“Goodbye, Emma,” Regina manages when she finally stumbles out of the front door.

 

“Bye, Regina,” Emma says with a cheery wave. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

And as Regina picks her way across the muddy ground in her unsuitable shoes, there’s absolutely nothing she can do about the smile that breaks out as she walks. 


End file.
